


Motormouth

by AndreaLyn



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their morning routine is normally set in stone. Angie narrates the plan for the day and Peggy prepares, but today is a little different when Angie goes off script.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motormouth

“English, you saw what I left you in the fridge, right?”

Peggy peers right into the refrigerator and sees the paper bag with a lipstick-kiss affixed to it, her name written in a flourish of cursive, and a ‘go get ‘em’ right under that. She draws it out from the remnants of the fridge, setting it on the counter with the rest of her things that she’s packing for the day.

“I’ve told you before that you don’t have to pack my lunches, Angie,” Peggy chastises. 

Angie wanders into the kitchen from where she’s been pulling the rollers from her hair, shrugging as another one comes loose and free. “I bring the leftovers from what we’ve got home and if I don’t make ‘em up into lunches, they go bad!” she says, like her logic is entirely sound and utterly without reproach.

Peggy will admit that it’s rather nice to have a lunch prepared for her every day. It’s a bright little spot in an otherwise frustrating sea of wading uphill to fight her battles. And here she’d thought Russia in the winter had been the worst battlefield she’d ever seen.

“Now,” Angie says, and Peggy inhales sharply as she prepares herself for what she’s come to think of as Angie’s morning monologue. Ever since they began living together in Howard’s ‘little’ home, Angie has proven to have quite the talent for letting her thoughts run loose and wild, as if they need to be aired in order to be recalled.

Peggy’s grown somewhat charmed by them, especially when Angie wrinkles up her nose in concentration as if she can’t bear to let a single thought be missed.

“I’m working today until at least six, seven probably if that jackass comes in at the last minute expecting me to wait on him hand and foot, even though the man could get coffee from the machine, but he says it doesn’t taste right. But after, I was thinking that maybe you and I could go and see a show. They’ve got this new play they’re debuting and I’m thinking that there might be some good audition material from it, but I want to be there to make sure I’m not just making it up…”

As she talks, she wanders through the kitchen, dropping her rollers into a basket as she starts to brew coffee. Peggy watches her fondly, packing her briefcase and gently setting the packed lunch amidst her folders and the other things she’ll need.

“…but I figure if you don’t work too late, we can grab dinner before, seeing as the last time we went to a show, your stomach kept growling all night until I thought it was part of the soundtrack.” She makes her rotation back around to where Peggy is standing, but as always, Angie seems inclined on her own thoughts. “And don’t take any of Thompson’s shit, even if he’s got Congress breathing down his neck. The way that guy acts, you’d think he wasn’t the…”

“Angie,” Peggy cuts her off gently before she can get too far in on the mudslinging of Jack’s character (not that Peggy thinks it isn’t deserved, but she does have to get to work).

“Right,” Angie admits. “Here,” she says, holding out the tube of red lipstick that Peggy had thought went missing. “I borrowed it when I needed to look a little more imposing and I forgot I had it. Have a good day, English,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to Peggy’s cheek. “I love you,” she says, and wanders off.

Stuck standing there in shock, Peggy can’t find it in her to move.

The rambling, the thoughts, everything had been part of their normal every-day routine. Only, this is the first time that Angie has ended it with a kiss (even one as chaste as that) and _certainly_ the first time that she’s ended it with those three words. Peggy sets her things down and wanders tentatively into the living room, where Angie is standing with her back to Peggy, motionless.

It seems as if this morning’s little speech didn’t catch only Peggy off guard.

“Angie?”

“Oh my god, you must think I’m an idiot,” Angie says, turning so Peggy can see that she’s clearly blaming herself for saying such things. “I swear, I never meant to put you on the spot like that and I know you’ve probably got a dozen guys after you, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met...”

“Angie!”

“…but you’re more than my best friend and I guess it finally slipped out and I’m sorry if it makes you awkward and uncomfortable, only…”

“Angie,” Peggy cuts her off, reaching over to take Angie’s hand in hers, stepping closer as she tries to will down the high blush in her cheeks at being so overly complimented. It feels _good_ to have something so different from Steve, but at its heart, so similar. Peggy really does think she might have a type for the scrappy, devoted, loyal, aggressively spirited heroes of the world – serum or no.

“I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” Angie says knowingly, her wry smile as adorable as the rest of her.

“I love you, too,” Peggy promises, cupping Angie’s cheeks with both hands fondly as she leans in to kiss Angie _properly_ , smelling the perfume Angie has put on today. Peggy’s hands slide down to twist up with the silk collar of her robe, pressing in closer and feeling a faint miasma of relief and anxiousness and adoration.

By the time she eases back, Angie is saying nothing at all.

“I think our mornings are going to get just a touch quieter from now on,” Peggy says with a touch of smugness, having so effectively found something that they can both enjoy and that feels so much like the start of something promising.

Angie’s laugh is dazed and warm as she stares up at Peggy. “Promise?”

“Well, at least until I figure out another way to earn noise out of you.”

“Definitely a promise,” Angie says and twines her fingers in with Peggy’s. “Call in sick to work?”

“I believe I am having some ladies’ difficulties,” Peggy agrees, watching Angie wander off to the bedroom, where Peggy will keenly follow after she’s done informing the office that this is a terrible time of month for her and she’s sure to come in once they’ve been solved. Hopefully for her, the solving part of this equation is going to take hours and hours and hours.


End file.
